


Natural

by electricblueninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belts, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Cas has recently noticed that there are hooks in the walls of his room. Dean reaps the benefits.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Natural

Dean's kind of disgusted, but his cock doesn't give a damn what he thinks of himself. He leans in; lets his weight shift; kind-of-not-at-all-accidentally lets Castiel take over. And his submission is all the sweeter because they both _know_ that Cas doesn't need it: that he could overpower Dean in a heartbeat. But he doesn't, and he doesn't need to. Dean is ready and willing. The fight in him is all bravado. He _likes_ havingCas grab him by the collar and shove him back against the wall. He's the one who spreads his own legs, deliberately shifting to push his crotch against Cas' thigh. He's the one who presses a hand to Cas' junk, his palm and fingers curling when he makes the gratifying discovery that he's already got a semi. He's the one whose skin gets covered in gooseflesh when his gentle pressure makes Cas growl in a way that is both protest and approval.

As always, up close, Cas smells sharp and hot. Dean gets a whiff of peppermint, the soft aroma of soap, and, beneath those, that inhumanly intense scent, the one that’s like a biblical spice, a gift of the Three Wise Men: something ancient and beautiful and exotic. 

That underlying aroma flicks a switch and clouds Dean’s senses. It makes his heart race and his breath quicken, like he’s been drowning without it, and desperately needs to fill his lungs with it again.

As Dean closes his eyes against the onslaught of smells and physical sensations, Cas leans in towards him, so close that their eyelashes tangle. Fingers slide up his neck; a strong hand grips his jaw, pulling his face forward. His heart is hammering, stomach twisting with anticipation, but Cas does not allow their parted lips to meet. Not yet. He never gives Dean what he wants too quickly. He's immortal: he knows how to be patient in a way no human can. And it makes for _very_ good sex.

Dean moans as his dick pulses. His jeans are too restrictive. He reaches down, fumbling; his free hand on autopilot. Belt buckle. Button. Zipper. _Come on, Cas, please--_

His other hand is still busy encouraging Cas' erection. It's awkward, but Dean one-handedly manages to get his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs.

Cas smirks against his lips at his eagerness, and Dean opens his eyes to attempt to glare into the ocean of blue. He just ends up staring, though, of course, because Cas’ eyes are ablaze with the holy fire of his grace, and the unholy fire of his lust. The latter makes Dean go genuinely weak at the knees, sinking back against the wall, his cock twitching between them, brushing his forearm as he keeps working on Cas, fingers and palm rubbing, pulling--gently, gently--trying to get him over the edge; to make him snap.

"Kiss me, dammit," he pleads softly, and Cas finally-- _finally--_ obliges, his parted lips covering Dean's; teasing him with light, slow invitations to kiss back before pressing closer, pushing him flush against the wall. After that, it's just a dizzying blur of the heat of his mouth and the taste of his tongue. The hand that was gripping his jaw moves down to take a very firm hold of his ass, and he whimpers.

He pulls out of their kiss long enough to say, "Bed. Now."

But Cas smiles and shakes his head, squeezing his ass cheek before releasing it, and releasing the front of Dean's shirt to lay both hands firmly on his chest. "I had other ideas."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm."

But no other information is forthcoming. And it's that patience again: Cas can wait forever. Dean can't.

"Well?" he prompts, trying unsuccessfully not to sound pathetic.

Cas leans forward. "I noticed," he murmurs conspiratorially into Dean's ear, "that there are hooks on the wall."

Dean shudders involuntarily. Cas' stubble is rough against his cheek, and he turns his head away to avoid the sensation, because it's _far_ too soon for him to cum, but he's starting to feel a little desperate. 

" _So_?" 

It sounds more like an accusation than a question. And he's made a mistake. He's exposed his throat. 

Cas' lips and teeth brush lightly over his skin.

"So," he says, smiling--Dean can feel the shape of his mouth, "humans _do_ put works of art on the wall, don't they?"

"Whatever," Dean mutters. "Shut up."

Still smirking, Cas steps away; goes over to the bedside table and gets the lube out of the drawer. Dean unbuttons his shirt and pulls off his t-shirt, and by the time he's done that, Cas has returned, setting the lube on the tallboy at Dean's side and reaching for the front of his own trousers. 

He has no right to be standing there looking at Dean with such innocence and affection at the same time as _undoing his belt_. No damn right _._ But Dean is too aroused to be genuinely irritated, and his exhalations become audibly shaky as Cas pulls the belt free of his trousers and begins to loop it neatly through itself--a figure of eight, with a long tail.

The penny drops. 

"Hands over your head, Dean."

Dean does as he's told. The leather is smooth around his wrists: with artisanal precision, Cas pulls it tight, but not too tight.

"Huh...practiced this before, have you?" 

Dean can't help the impulse to be a smartass, despite the number of times people have tried to beat it out of him.

"Jealous, Dean?" Cas responds smoothly, as he tests his handiwork, tugging lightly on the long end of the belt. He reaches up overhead, his untucked shirt brushing over Dean's naked skin and eager cock. This is followed by a frown and a muted rumble of irritation. No buckle, Dean realises, to slip over the hook. But Cas is nothing if not resourceful: after a moment's contemplation, he pulls Dean's belt from his jeans, and does something with _that_ , and then there he is, cuffed and bound and indecently exposed, attached to a wall hook with his own belt buckle, the brickwork rough on his back and Cas close to him, but not close enough. 

The heavy silence is punctuated by the clinking of metal on metal as he twists and pulls, testing his restraints.

They're good. They hold. And Castiel is visibly satisfied with his own work.

He steps forward and runs a finger along Dean's collarbone. Lets the finger be joined by its friends, and trace its lazy way down to his left nipple, and then lower...dropping, dropping, to pause on his hip.

"Maybe I should just keep you here like this," Cas says, but his voice is hoarse, and Dean can see that the angel's human urges are close to victory.

So he does what he knows Cas can't stand--he braces against his bonds, looks at him through lowered eyelashes, and lets a note of pleading creep into his voice. "Cas, _please,_ " he says, "Don't make me beg. I need you. I _need_ you."

It works. Making a visible effort to control his movements, Cas strips Dean of the rest of his clothes, then his own, kicking them into an inelegant heap on the floor. He slicks his fingers, the fire in his eyes now entirely unholy. Takes a hold of Dean's cock with the cool, wet fingers of one hand; slides a dripping fingertip of the other between his ass-cheeks and into his asshole. Dean's muscles only offer token resistance. With his wrists tied, his cock in Cas' hand, and his soul getting sucked deep into those blue, blue eyes, same as how his body is sucking Cas' fingers in--first one, now two...he feels like he doesn't know how to resist; like he never did. He trusts Cas. He wants him. He really does need him.

"Please, Cas," he moans, pushing his cock deeper into the angel's grip, " _please--_ "

Cas silences his plea with a kiss. 

They say that angels don't really understand hunger or thirst, but whenever they're together like this--whenever Cas kisses Dean so hard it feels like he's trying to taste his soul--Dean is pretty sure that that's not true. Times like these, Cas is _all_ hunger and thirst. Pure need. Impure need. Whatever. It's a need that Dean wants to be the only one to fulfil. He knows that there were one or two before him, but he doesn't _like_ the thought. He'd never have picked himself as the jealous type, but he doesn't want anyone else to see this side of Castiel. The naked side. The rippling physique, muscles taut and bulging with the strain of holding back the fire and flood of his superhuman lust. The power in him, and the way he controls it. Luckily, by Cas' own admission, Dean is the only one who can satiate him.

Dean closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall, savouring the motions of Cas’ fingers. "Need...you," he gasps out. 

Cas curls two fingers inside his hole one last time, then eases them out. He reaches for the lube again, squeezing a goddamn mound of it onto his palms, and then applies those to his own cock. He rids himself of the excess by tending, too briefly, to Dean's neglected erection, with the wettest friction and the gentlest twisting. 

Dean whimpers.

Then, there are slick, sticky palms on his thighs, gripping his hamstrings to lift him and pin him against the wall, like he weighs nothing. 

Dean wraps his legs around Cas' waist, leaning back against the bricks to give Cas room to move, and to pull a hand free. Cas guides his throbbing cock to Dean's waiting hole, and carefully slides it in.

It goes in easy. Dean is so mellow that he just melts around him, clenching and pulling and drawing him up. And Cas reads him: knows when to push, and when to stop. The ebb and flow between them is perfect. Synergetic. 

Dean _wants_. So badly. So much. He twists his hands a little to loop the strap he hangs from in his hands, and uses that, plus the support of the wall, to angle himself downwards, riding the full thick length of Cas' cock. 

Cas’ immeasurable strength is more than up to the task of supporting him. Dean’s physical exertion is starting to cause little droplets of sweat to form on his skin, but those beads of sweat starting to glisten on Cas' forehead like a crown have nothing to do with physical effort--he’s just trying to contain himself; trying to let Dean call the shots.

But Cas is close: Dean can feel it. He's pulsating inside him, his cock thrusting in jerky movements while he’s still trying to hold back. Dean's dick is doing the same; throbbing; shiny and red as it bounces against their stomachs. Every time it hits skin edges him closer to orgasm. But then, Cas shifts the pace, and Dean's soft grunts become more urgent, because Cas is getting him _right there_ , and he can't -- he can't -- he's cumming; spurting messily onto their chests and stomachs, and _of course_ it makes his body tighten, undulate, squeezing Cas so tight that how could he do anything but -- _there_ it is. There.

Dean laughs breathlessly as he feels the hot wet surge of Cas letting go inside him.

"God," he whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

Cas just moans meaninglessly, his body quaking with pleasure, and Dean steals soft, open-mouthed kisses from his lips as they ride out the aftershocks, sharing the moment.

"Not...God," Cas manages, between kisses. "Castiel."

"Whatever," says Dean, "Shut up."

Cas does shut up, and reaches up to unhook the belt buckle. 

Dean lets his arms fall around Cas' neck, and lets their foreheads rest together again. For a few minutes there is nothing else in the world except for the two of them: nothing except warmth and satiation and the wet, hot messes between them. And, in Dean's case, inside him. Which is nice and all, but...

"Cas...I'm gonna need a shower."

"Why?"

Cas is genuinely puzzled, but he relents quickly when Dean gives him an exasperated look and says, "Because you're about to start dripping _out_ of me, Cas."

"Oh," says Cas, and Dean smiles a little, because Cas is only pretending to understand, but he wants to make Dean happy.

He arches his back while Cas pulls out and gently lets him down. The angel ducks lightly out of Dean’s embrace to free his wrists from the belts, and, while Dean gingerly stretches out his shoulders, studies their spattered torsos with interest.

"I suppose you're going to tell me I should shower, too."

"Yeah, unless you want to sleep on the floor. I only just changed the sheets."

"Oh. I see. Then...why did you want to go to the bed, earlier?"

Cas is getting much better at reading Dean's facial expressions. It only takes about three seconds of the Look before he realises there's about to be Trouble, and he quickly concedes.

"...I understand. I'll go warm the water for you." 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I love the idea that angels don't really care about being physically messy or dirty like humans do. (They are celestial wavelengths, after all.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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